[Old fic] Unholy Liasions (JSA, 1/1, NC-17)
So. I was trying to keep myself up last night for reasons that escape me now, and I was reading through some of the old JSA fic I'd written (I got rec'd on crack_van! For a piece I'd nearly forgotten I'd written! It was so ego-cuddly!) Anyway, I remembered having written a story off the "Liberty Files" Elseworlds and could not find it anywhere. Because it's not on LJ. Thank goodness for kerithwyn and the dcu_slash_index - I found it on the Yahoogroup where I'd posted it and realized the original posting date was actually April 1...2003. So, naturally, I figured that was some sort of sign that I should post it on LJ so I could find it again and for some kind of fabulous (in my own mind) parallelism. The thing that surprised me is that the writing is actually not all that bad. It aged terribly because it's based on a 7-year-old JSA Elseworlds and I can't remember which parts are canon for that 'verse and which stuff I just made up. And it's really not with the sense-making unless you read the Elseworlds. And it's written in first person.
So, um, pretty much it's just up here for me and 'rith. And maybe greenygal if she read that Elseworlds. Everyone else can just...move along.
Title: Unholy Liasions
Fandom: JSA (DC Comics)
Pairing: Sand Hawkins/Charles McNider (Sand/Dr. Mid-Nite)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of the characters used in this story belong to me. They
are possessions of DC Comics and, I'm sure, would much rather be living
with me. This version of the characters is from the Elseworlds depicted in
the stories "The Liberty Files" and "Unholy Three" in which Charles McNider
does not appear to hold a medical degree. (He's never referred to as "Doc"
in any of the stories.) Special thanks to Chicago and Reccea for betaing
and to 'rith, Carmen and Nika for shamelessly encouraging. Darklady, this
is not backstory-cubed, but don't be surprised if it begets some. Please
be advised that the opinions expressed by the bad guys are not the author's
opinions (after all, would I be writing about them if they were?) and that
the bad guys are just that--bad guys, and undoubtedly lacking in good taste
anyway.
Rating: NC-17
Unholy Liasons
By Smitty
Interrogation. Hour nine. I didn't know where the Trigger
was and I was glad I didn't. The first guy'd worked me over good enough,
but this one was looking at me like he wanted to eat me for lunch.
It wasn't a nice thought.
"Please, Mr. Hawkins." he hissed. "Not only will I learn where
the Trigger is, but I'll also learn everything about you. Everything," he
clarified. "From the little boy nicknames your mother called you--"
Sandy.
"To what you prefer for breakfast each day--"
Two eggs over easy and wheat toast with jam. Strawberry.
"To the time and place you lost your virginity."
Oh, *fuck*.
"All of it."
And then, before I could react to that implication, his face
started to...change. It swelled and lost shape and lengthened.
"Oh...god..." I gasped, squinting through the eye that wasn't
swollen shut as his hairline receded and his rounded mouth opened to reveal
dagger-sharp teeth.
"Believe me," he said in disgust, "it's knowledge I could do
without."
He knows, I realized, my mind screaming in terror as those
teeth approached me. He knows about me and Chaz. He knows that Chaz
fucked me.
Charles McNider would sleep with anything that moved, but only
once. Me, he kept coming back to. Chaz--he insisted on Chaz, never Mr.
McNider and for some reason, Wesley allowed it--loved women, used to go on
about the swell of their hips, the curve of their breasts, the deep, wet,
hot place between their legs he used to go, how he could make them flushed
and red and swollen everywhere. He loved that. But he craved men. As
much emotional satisfaction he got out of pleasing women, they only
perfunctorily pleased him. Even the lustiest of dames couldn't drive him
as crazy as I could.
Back when.
McNider took me out for a drink on my eighteenth
birthday. Old enough to die in the armed forces, old enough to drink, he
said, clapping me on the shoulder as he directed me into a dive that seemed
much less lush than his usual watering holes.
Chaz cut a glamorous figure those days; a friend of my uncle
Wesley's. Maybe friend was too strong a word, because Wesley never quite
seemed to approve of his stories or even be happy to see him show up at the
door, but by the end of the night, he'd have Wesley roaring with
laughter--a rarity indeed. Aunt Dian adored him, too, perching herself on
the arm of the sofa as he talked and laughed and told ribald jokes. I got
shooed off to bed pretty quickly those nights, but that didn't usually stop
me from lurking on the stairs and listening.
"No girlfriend?" he asked bluntly, his voice friendly, as he
set a mug of beer in front of me. "Nice looking kid like yourself should
have girls falling all over him."
"Just haven't found the right one, I guess," I said politely,
taking a sip at the foam.
It was my standard line, because if there was a right one out
there, it wasn't going to be a girl. I'd figured that out four years prior
when I woke up from a dream of my best friend Danny jerking me off to find
my sheets a sticky mess. I'd tried to talk myself out of it, pretend I
didn't know what was going on, even made a conscious effort to go against
type, but even at eighteen I had figured out that none of those tactics
were going to work. The church wasn't exactly calling to me but I was
hoping I could deal with a life of celibacy, at least until I had enough
money to buy my own island and move there in isolation--near-isolation.
Yeah, that was a joke.
"It doesn't have to be the *right* one," Chaz told me with a
lift of his glass and a sly grin. "It just has to be a willing one."
I coughed on the formless foam in my mouth and tried not to
laugh too hard.
"There is that," I said as neutrally as I could manage.
Chaz gave me what seemed to be a long measuring look from
behind his glasses and that handsome smirk settled into a thoughtful curve.
"I want to recruit you," he said abruptly.
"Recruit me?" I repeated, not quite sure what he meant. I had
intended to sign up for the army before I was drafted. It had been a point
of contention between me and Wesley, who wanted me to go to college first.
"Recruit you," he repeated. "For my division."
Excitement raced through me. I'd long suspected that Charles
McNider was a spy. There were so many places he'd been, so many things
he'd done, so many important people he knew, I couldn't imagine he was just
a simple soldier.
"Your division?" I asked, my pulse racing in my temples. I
could be a spy! I could go far away, see things, learn things...do things.
Chaz nodded slowly and leaned forward.
"It's an intelligence operation," he confirmed softly. "And
we'll talk about it in more depth later." He leaned back in his seat and
took another drink. "But I firmly believe that no man should decide his
destiny before he loses his virginity."
And then he said something that I'd never heard anyone say before.
"Have you considered men?"
"Hah--What?" I choked, coughing up my beer messily.
Chaz removed his glasses and set his drink on the table.
"Some men," he said quietly, "like men. Maybe--" he leaned
back and raised his chin so that he appeared to be studying me despite his
blindness, "--you haven't found the right woman because you'd rather have a
man."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that so I just didn't. Maybe
he was trying to figure if I was queer because it would disqualify me from
a position in his division...or maybe he was making a pass at me. From the
way his eyes traveled from my face to my chest and back--which was quite
disconcerting then, before I learned that his unique condition allowed him
to see in the dark--I thought he might be making a pass at me, but I didn't
really know what one looked like, and I didn't want to ruin my chances for
his offer.
"Are you asking me if I'm a homosexual?" I asked finally,
holding as straight a poker face as I could manage, just in case he could
see, or could even read the expression in my voice.
Chaz's face split into a grin that was equal parts amused and
lecherous. His hand, which I hadn't even realized was under the table,
closed around my knee and slid up my thigh. My breath choked in my throat
as I found myself instantly hard. I sat up straighter, the muscles in my
leg tensing under his hand.
"That's exactly what I'm asking you, Sand," he murmured, his
eyes steady on mine.
I tried to breathe and I tried to think and neither one was
working out too well. I wasn't sure it was clear to answer affirmatively
yet--maybe he was trying to trick me. After all, he *was* a spy. And he
was definitely lying about the blindness.
"Look," he said, his hand still hooked over my leg. "Whether
or not you sleep with me has no bearing on my offer. None. I'm here to
make it and whether or not you take it and whether or not you make it
through the training if you do is up to you."
He wanted to sleep with me, I realized over the pounding of my
heart. The rest was just details, that slightly jumbled sentence that we
could worry about later. I found myself nodding, trying to form words with
my mouth without knowing which words would be right to form.
A confident smile curved into Chaz's face.
"Good," he said, taking my stupefaction for consent. He
removed his hand from my leg and reached into his suit jacket. "This is
the key to my hotel room," he told me, passing it over the table. "Go
through the lobby, up the elevator to the fourth floor, then go to the
stairwell and take that to the second floor and wait in room 12. Be ready
to let me in when I knock. I'll stop at the concierge's desk and pick up
my messages."
I nodded then, taking the key and clutching it tightly in my fist.
"Leave the beer," he told me. "I've got a bottle of good
whisky in my room." He flashed a quick smile and I realized then how it
was he managed to get so many otherwise-proper women in bed. "And that'll
help you more than this swill will," he added, draining his own cup. He
stood and left a bill on the table and I hurried to keep up with him as we
left.
Chaz and I walked in near-silence through the busy streets,
the light taps of his cane echoing in the back of my mind. My heart was
pounding in anticipation of my first sexual experience as I wove around
tipsy couples and dodged fast-talking shysters. Chaz seemed to skirt them
all with ease and it was an effort not to stare at him and the lithe grace
with which he moved.
We reached the door of Chaz's hotel and he lengthened his
stride a bit.
"I'll go in first," he said, reaching casually into his pants
pocket for a cigarette. "You go straight on up, fourth floor, the stairs
to second, then--"
"Room 12, " I finished to show that I remembered.
Chaz paused and a brief smile flickered over his face. He
nodded once and opened the door. I waited for it to close, then counted to
ten in English, Mandarin and Cantonese.
Chaz was waiting at the desk, nonchalantly lighting his cig as
the night clerk checked for his messages. I walked straight to the
elevator, letting Chaz slide out of my peripheral vision and turning to
admire a pair of girls sitting in the bar area without breaking
stride. They didn't exactly catch my attention, particularly with the
possibilities for the next few hours, but I thought the casual look
appeared normal. The elevator was already on the ground floor and the
doors opened immediately. I stepped in, away from everyone's sight, and
told the elevator operator that I wanted to go to the fourth floor.
He gave me a look that seemed longer than usual and it made me
nervous, but he closed the door and pressed the button for the fourth
floor. I wished for a cigarette. I didn't usually smoke, but I thought
maybe it would make me seem older, like I belonged in a hotel like this,
like I'd have my own room here.
I nodded as I left the doors and turned left. I walked
decisively until I heard the doors shut, then I stopped and regrouped. It
was late and all the doors were closed, the only light in the narrow hall
from a single lamp overhead. I saw that the stairwell ended the hall to my
right, so I retraced my steps and pushed cautiously on the door leading to
the stairwell. It groaned the way only old metal doors can, so I slipped
through it quickly and scuttled down four flights of stairs until I stood
before the door marking the entrance to the second floor. I pushed it
open, feeling the same groan against my shoulder, and glanced at the
nearest closed door. It was an odd number, so Chaz's room was on the near
side of the hall. I glanced to my left and saw that I was close to room
number sixteen. I walked quietly, on the balls of my feet, to door number
12. The key Chaz had slipped me was still in my palm and it fit almost
perfectly. The door swung open and I stepped inside, closing the door
after me with an exhalation of a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
I turned on the light and glanced around the room. It was
tiny, a box really, marked with a double bed and a small table. A
telephone and an ashtray sat on the table alongside the small lamp. The
whiskey Chaz had mentioned sat on a nightstand on the far side of the
bed. I didn't see any glasses.
A sharp rap on the door broke my mental catalogue of the
place. It had to be Chaz, but I checked the peephole anyway before letting
him in.
"I see you found the place all right," he commented,
shouldering through the small opening I left for him and pushing the door
shut behind him. "No trouble from the man downstairs?"
"None," I assured him, assuming correctly that he meant the
elevator operator.
Chaz tossed his cane into the corner, where it came to rest
with a rattle.
"Good. Time for a drink then," he proclaimed, pulling out one
of the two chairs from the table. "If you don't mind?" He nodded toward
the back of the room and it took me a moment to realize that I was meant to
get the whiskey. I skirted the bed, not looking at it too carefully,
whether by accident or design, I'd rather not consider. When I returned to
the table, bottle in hand, Chaz had two glasses waiting. I didn't think to
ask where he'd kept them.
"So, you want to be a spy," he said, taking the bottle from me
and unscrewing the top.
"I want a lot of things," I said carefully, watching him
splash amber liquid into the glasses.
"You're good at this," he commented, pushing one glass across
the table in my direction. "You're careful. That's good. But you also
need to take risks in this business." He reached over and pulled the
little string of metal beads that turned out the lamp. "It's a dangerous
business," he said quietly. The light of the moon, shining through the
window, caught the edge of the cut glass tumbler and made it glow as he
tilted it up. "I've lost a lot of friends in this war. And so has your
uncle."
It didn't occur to me to correct him--that Wesley wasn't
really my uncle, especially not because he never had married Aunt
Dian. The very idea that Wesley might be a spy too, that his days of
working with Chaz McNider might have actually been in deep cover and not in
some sort of laboratory--well, that was exciting too, and I guess it made
me all the more eager to prove myself.
"Wesley works with you?" I said neutrally, trying to keep that
approval that seemed to come with subtlety.
"Not so much anymore," Chaz confirmed. "And I doubt he'd be
happy with my sharing that fact with you."
No, no Wesley wouldn't, but the more I thought about it, the
more it made sense. Not just in terms of disappearing for weeks at a time,
because there were so many jobs--safe, civilian jobs--that legitimately
stole men from their families for stretches of time, but in terms of how I
was raised. Wesley and Dian were both into current events and world
politics and we often held discussions around the dinner table. Usually,
Dian would take the opposing stance to Wesley's statements, teaching me how
to carefully break down an argument and make my point. I was given all the
books I'd ever want, but with every Western or crime novel, a book on
political philosophy, or history, or even one of Aunt Dian's novels would
appear right beside it. We learned languages around the table, Wesley
teaching both Dian and me the dialects he'd learned in the
Orient. Together, we'd spend weekends working on projects in the basement,
mechanical, chemical, and electronic. In a sense I was being trained,
though never, I think, with the purpose of sending me out on the journey I
was about to undertake.
"What about Aunt Dian?" I asked, more out of curiosity than
anything else. I just couldn't see Aunt Dian sitting to the side and
letting Wesley have all the fun.
"What about her?"
"Did she play the game, too?" I specified.
Chaz chuckled. "For a bit," he confessed. "Although it was
more a dalliance than a career. She certainly wasn't on the payroll."
That didn't surprise me either. Aunt Dian never did anything
for the money.
"How do I join?"
I heard the clink of glass as Chaz sat down his glass. It
reminded me that I had yet to sample the whisky myself. I lifted the glass
to my lips and inhaled the sharp, smoky aroma, then tilted the tumbler,
taking a mouthful of the liquor.
Good quality, better than the hotel room would indicate. It
burned smoothly down my throat and warmed my stomach, soothing the nerves
that were clenching it tight.
"You would enlist, same as anyone else," Chaz told me,
swirling his drink. "When it came time to ship you out, your orders would
direct you to a special training squadron. That would be my job, to get
you flagged for special ops. You'd go through an intense basic training,
then through a specialized course in espionage and cryptology. From there
you would be assigned simple training missions and work up into more
advanced sorties. You'd be good," he offered, pausing to sip at his drink,
"as a deep-cover agent. It's an intense assignment, and more than most can
handle, but your skills are...unique."
That was flattering, of course, and I would have fallen for it
even if I'd known better then. From that moment I knew that I'd be unable
to settle for anything less than what Chaz was offering.
"I want in," I told him straight up.
He set his glass down and in the silence, I remembered what he
had said about making important life decisions before losing my virginity.
"And that'll be my answer tomorrow morning," I said boldly.
He threw back his head and laughed long and loud in what
appeared to be deep appreciation for my humor.
"All right then," he said with a confident smile. He
abandoned his drink, pushing away from the table and moving to sit on the
bed. "I guess I did tell you that there were certain rites of passage you
needed to experience before promising your life away." He started
unknotting his tie as he talked.
I suppose that would have been the time to start undressing
and to my credit, did manage to formulate that thought, but my eyes were
fixed on his deft fingers working the silk of his necktie and I couldn't
make any part of my body move. Well, one part, of course, was moving
rather unsteadily and it didn't abate when Chaz folded his tie over the
near chair and quickly stripped off his shirt. I needed to adjust myself,
but I was busy watching the white undershirt drop onto the floor and there
was something sweet about the pain; maybe it was knowing that my clothes
were about to be on the floor next.
"You all right, kid?" Chaz asked, standing in just his suit
pants, belt, socks and shoes.
I nodded mutely, afraid my voice would do something
embarrassing that it hadn't done in years...break, or squeak or who knows what.
He stepped closer and cuffed the back of my neck with one
strong hand. "You're sure?"
I nodded, and he studied me for another moment.
"Ok, then," he agreed, and pulled my head to his.
I was familiar with the mechanics of a kiss; even had one
planted on me by Cindy Colburn back in eighth grade, but never had I
dreamed one could heat my body like Chaz's kiss did. He paused a second
before contact and I felt his warm breath against my lips. Next thing I
knew, his strong, whisky-tinged mouth was on mine and in one smooth move,
his tongue was sweeping across my teeth.
My knees buckled but I managed not to collapse. If I thought
I'd been hard before, it was nothing compared to what was going on in my
pants as Chaz's tongue plundered my mouth. I didn't much know what to do,
so I just let him take my mouth. I tried to press my lips back on his to
show him that I wanted him just as much as he wanted me, and ventured my
tongue out in small tastes, but it was clear who was in charge of this
encounter.
I didn't realize that his calloused, long-fingered hand was
splayed over my cheek, tilting my head up, until he removed it. I felt
somewhat indignant at having missed the caress, but then that hand joined
its mate in sweeping down my ribcage and around my body to the small of my
back.
Chaz tore his mouth away from mine and stepped back. I gasped
in an involuntary breath. Then, the world changed color as Chaz ripped my
shirt over my head and discarded it on the floor.
"Nice," he murmured softly, running his hands over my chest in
a way that reminded me he could see, just before he pinched each of my
nipples between two fingers.
Pleasure spiked through me, making me gasp again as Chaz
grinned smugly at me.
"Good, sensitive," he commented, releasing one to comb through
what chest hair I had. It didn't seem like nearly enough now, though
Wesley assured me that it would become denser as I aged. He fingered one
nipple as he studied me, causing little tight fireworks in the skin and in
my peripheral vision. "I don't sleep with little boys, Sandy," he said,
closing his fingers over the fine hairs on my chest. "But I do like young
men. You are a young man, aren't you, Sandy?"
I nodded quickly, hardly daring to breath with Chaz so close
and heavy-lidded as he was. I felt Chaz's fingers leave my nipple and then
my knees nearly gave out when he cupped that hand in the distortion of my
slacks. I dredged up every breathing technique Wesley had taught me over
the years and tried to center myself.
Chaz's eyes sketched over my face in the dark as his hand
kneaded my cock and balls. I had to bite my lip and avert my eyes to keep
from tackling him to the bed. It was almost more disconcerting when his
hand left and his fingers found my waistband. He wrenched my pants open
and slid one hand neatly into my boxers. His strong hand wrapped firmly
around my cock, which surged with increased fervor.
I suddenly realized I had my hands on his shoulders and was
holding on for dear life. A slow smile had started to spread across his
face, a look that was very nearly triumphant.
"Time for bed, Sandy?" he asked, voice husky in my ear and I
guess I nodded.
He withdrew his hand from my pants and used the flat of his other hand on
my back to push me toward the waiting bed.
I pushed my pants and boxers down to the floor with trembling
hands and stepped out of them. Gay sex isn't something good boys from
Manhattan are versed in, but the basics were out there and I knew enough to
go to my knees when I got on the bed.
Chaz didn't say anything, but I could almost feel his approval
as I heard his pants follow mine to the floor.
A chill struck my skin and I shivered as he approached the
bed. I remember that shiver very distinctly and I'll probably never know why.
"If you're cold," he started, but then he never finished his
sentence. Instead, he passed one hand down my back and over my naked
buttocks, cupping his hand as he reached the crease where my bottom met my
thigh.
Maybe, after he'd said that, maybe he'd thought that I was
scared. And back then, men didn't talk about being scared, even men who
fancied other men. So he just didn't say anything, but he was gentler.
He knelt on the bed behind me and ran his hands over my back,
my shoulders, then leaned forward and pressed his body against mine.
I could feel the hard ridge of his cock against the soft part
of my butt and I tensed all my muscles in anticipation.
But he wasn't ready yet. He felt up my stomach and over my
chest, then leaned back a bit and ran his hands up the front of my
thighs. He wrapped one hand around my cock and the other hand around my
balls and started massaging.
I tried my best to last, but it was the first time someone
besides me had touched me like this, and the next thing I knew, I was
gasping and whining as Chaz's expert hand caught the fluid pumping out of
my cock as his other arm wrapped around my stomach, holding me to him.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and
widened my eyes as I stared at the thin, institutional bedspread on the
hotel bed.
Chaz released my waist, sending me crashing down on my
forearms, and I felt his hand rubbing something hot and wet--my own come,
I'd realize later--between the cheeks of my ass.
"That should help you relax," he was saying, as his fingers
were doing amazing, invasive things to me. My breath came in short
stuttering gasps again as he began to edge a fingertip inside me.
It felt odd, but also right.
I held onto the coverlet with both hands as Chaz twisted his
finger, sliding inside me a little more. It suddenly struck me that his
*cock* was supposed to go in there, that the long ridge laid up against my
hip was going to be following the path his finger was clearing and
suddenly, the whole thing became a whole lot scarier and a whole lot more real.
"Sandy." Chaz's voice was firm but kind. "Don't tense
up. This'll work better if you're relaxed." As if to illustrate that
point, he pushed with his finger and I felt something back there give and
then he was *inside* me.
I gasped and drove my face into the nearest pillow to muffle
the noise.
Chaz's free hand rubbed my lower back as he moved his finger
in and out of me and my whimpering became steady.
I tried to slow my breathing again and concentrated on
relaxing what seemed to be the pertinent muscles.
"Good boy," Chaz murmured and I felt another blunt pressure at
my ass and felt it as he slid two fingers inside me.
I coughed in response to the pressure and tried to actively
relax the muscles, which probably just made them tighten up again.
Chaz's fingers moved a little faster in me and then he started
moving them around. I fisted my hands in the pillow and held it to my
mouth. This wasn't the way men and women had sex, this was baser and
cruder and almost wrong, but erotic in its sinfulness.
My cock was hard again and I ached for Chaz to go deeper, to
add another finger, something, anything.
I was too overwhelmed to pick my head up and tell him, though,
so I just clung to my pillow and thrust my ass into the air.
I could hear Chaz's breath behind me, harsh, coming faster as
he twisted his fingers inside me. His other hand, on my left buttock,
tightened and released spastically, sending muscle twitches ripping along
that side. His cock rubbed roughly against my hip, hard and hot and
velvety at the tip.
I wet my lips with my tongue, but they dried out again
instantly. I didn't know how to ask for what I needed and Chaz was trying
his best not to rush me. At the time, I didn't realize that this was
making him nearly as crazy as it was making me.
I know better now.
Chaz leaned down and I could feel his breath on my shoulder as
he rasped the words from deep in his throat.
"Are you ready?"
If I'd been able to think about it, I might have taken a
moment to relish my last seconds as a virgin and the knowledge that a
chapter in my life was about to close. But I wasn't able and I didn't
pause, and maybe it's just as well.
I nodded, more vigorously than I had to, and Chaz groaned as
he leaned back.
His fingers pulled from my ass smoothly and I gasped when they
popped free. The erection at my thigh moved away and I think I held my
breath as Chaz pressed the head of his cock to my ass and pushed in.
My breath left me in a whoosh as I realized I'd made a
terrible mistake.
This was not the pleasantly full feeling from Chaz's fingers;
this was pain, streaking up inside me, burning unbearably. I bit at my
lip, loathe to make a sound in pain as my body screamed at the
entrance. But then something relaxed and the pain wasn't as
debilitating. I heard Chaz make a sound like a little sigh, and it
distracted me for a moment. Slowly, awareness returned and I realized that
Chaz was balls-deep in my ass and that full feeling was back, the pleasure
magnified a thousandfold. He pulled back a bit and my eyes widened at the
sensation. I wanted him back in, wanted him deeper, and as he eased in his
second thrust, I realized I hadn't made a mistake at all.
My cock was hard, pressed firmly against my stomach, and I
ducked my head down, watching it bob and my balls swing with Chaz's
thrusts. The pain was gone; the mild ache in my thighs actually more
noticeable. Chaz's hands rested lightly on the sides of my rib cage as he
rolled against me in short, soft thrusts.
"Harder," I managed to croak, knowing Chaz was treating me
with kid gloves, knowing the whiskey, the fingers, everything had been to
make it easier for me. I knew he wanted more--needed more--and I wanted to
give it to him, even as I drew pleasure from his actions myself.
The sound he made then was one I've never found words to
describe, but has stayed with me to this day. His hands closed firmly over
my hips and his knee pushed my own out, sprawling me deeper on the bed. I
leaned my chest on my forearms, gripping the worn comforter in my fingers
as Chaz's thrusts became short and sharp, then increased in depth.
I closed my eyes and pictured Chaz behind me, his face tense
as he plowed into me. I could feel his fingers sliding for a better grip
as his hands slicked with sweat and his balls bounced against my ass with
light taps that I felt everywhere. Chaz was breathing heavily, little
grunts and moans being dragged from his throat.
It took me several more encounters to realize just how tenuous
his control really was with me.
I scooted my knees further up the bed, toward my elbows,
sinking Chaz deeper inside me. It also changed the angle, sending him
riding right over my prostate, and sending me spurting on the bed for a
second time that night.
Without thinking about it, I cried out as I came, my torso
bouncing up from the bed. Chaz's hands were suddenly gone from my hips and
I felt him clasping my shoulders, riding me down to the bed again, into my
own release, and then he rocked into me one last time before I felt a hot
rush inside me.
It was an odd feeling, like I'd lost control of something I
shouldn't have, but not, and when Chaz collapsed on my back, I felt like we
had somehow melted together.
Quite a while later, after Chaz was gone, I was with a man who
covered his cock with a condom before fucking me. It hadn't occurred to me
at the time that we'd ever need one--it wasn't as if he was going to get me
pregnant and diseases seemed to be a danger only in prostitutes.
Looking back, I'm glad we didn't use one. We never did and
ever after that, that feeling of complete exchange was something I only
ever shared with him. We were lucky in some respects; Chaz always used
them with his ladies and whether he slept with other men or not, I don't
know, but he was always clean.
Call me a romantic, but I didn't sleep with anyone but Chaz
until quite a bit after he died.
He was killed in a hospital in Bern, in 1942.
It was on a mission.
I had been out of training for less than a year, maybe only
six moths, and our times together had been infrequent, but the fact that
they were times, plural, meant something. I spent the evening in my
quarters with a bottle of the same whiskey we'd drunk that night and
toasted him. And then I went about my life.
And this is where it ends up.
I opened my eyes and looked up into the face of the
devil. The gruesome countenance and needle-toothed, sucking mouth were
gone, leaving behind an austere-looking man with an expression of complete
disgust on his face.
I felt light-headed and somehow I knew my time was
over. Whatever I was living off now was in limited quantities. I hoped
I'd made Wesley proud. I hoped Dian wouldn't cry. And most of all, I
hoped Chaz, wherever he was, approved.
"I wouldn't dirty my hands with the crummy little faggot," the
devil's voice came, as though through a long tunnel.
"I like to watch them go through the wall," was the reply, in
English, in an American accent.
I strained to see, strained to identify this newcomer, as if
I'd be able to report the information to anyone. All I saw as a massive
hand closed over my throat, and lifted me from the floor was a black suit
and dark hair. The hand choked and my peripheral vision blurred and the
next thing I knew, I was hurling through the air. I closed my eyes.
***
"Didn't know, huh?"
"Of course not." Parasite shuddered as he wiped the back of
his hand across his mouth. "Let's hope the next one doesn't have so much
extraneous knowledge."
"I hope his head goes pop."
Epilogue:
"Sand. Sandy. Open your eyes."
I didn't want to. I didn't want to feel myself hit the wall.
"It's all right now," the voice told me. "Open your
eyes. It's time to go."
Chaz?
Slowly, I peeled my eyes open, and realized that I wasn't
flying through the air anymore. I wasn't exactly standing on solid ground,
although it sure looked like I did. The tunnel didn't have much in the way
of a floor, just hazy mist and a bright light at the far end.
"Sandy." It was Charles McNider, and I almost cried in relief
when I saw him. He wasn't wearing his glasses and he was looking at me,
straight at me, even though there was certainly too much light in the
tunnel for him to see me. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "It's
time to go home."
I opened my mouth and the first thing that came to mind came out.
"Is the mission completed?"
Chaz's mouth twitched into a smile and he reached for my hand
and took it in his own. "Mission's completed, Sandy," he told me. "It's
in someone else's hands now."
The End
Argh, the end! We're not talking about the end.
Also clearly I have no ACTUAL shame, even though I'm using the embarrassed mood.
So, um, pretty much it's just up here for me and 'rith. And maybe greenygal if she read that Elseworlds. Everyone else can just...move along.
Title: Unholy Liasions
Fandom: JSA (DC Comics)
Pairing: Sand Hawkins/Charles McNider (Sand/Dr. Mid-Nite)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of the characters used in this story belong to me. They
are possessions of DC Comics and, I'm sure, would much rather be living
with me. This version of the characters is from the Elseworlds depicted in
the stories "The Liberty Files" and "Unholy Three" in which Charles McNider
does not appear to hold a medical degree. (He's never referred to as "Doc"
in any of the stories.) Special thanks to Chicago and Reccea for betaing
and to 'rith, Carmen and Nika for shamelessly encouraging. Darklady, this
is not backstory-cubed, but don't be surprised if it begets some. Please
be advised that the opinions expressed by the bad guys are not the author's
opinions (after all, would I be writing about them if they were?) and that
the bad guys are just that--bad guys, and undoubtedly lacking in good taste
anyway.
Rating: NC-17
Unholy Liasons
By Smitty
Interrogation. Hour nine. I didn't know where the Trigger
was and I was glad I didn't. The first guy'd worked me over good enough,
but this one was looking at me like he wanted to eat me for lunch.
It wasn't a nice thought.
"Please, Mr. Hawkins." he hissed. "Not only will I learn where
the Trigger is, but I'll also learn everything about you. Everything," he
clarified. "From the little boy nicknames your mother called you--"
Sandy.
"To what you prefer for breakfast each day--"
Two eggs over easy and wheat toast with jam. Strawberry.
"To the time and place you lost your virginity."
Oh, *fuck*.
"All of it."
And then, before I could react to that implication, his face
started to...change. It swelled and lost shape and lengthened.
"Oh...god..." I gasped, squinting through the eye that wasn't
swollen shut as his hairline receded and his rounded mouth opened to reveal
dagger-sharp teeth.
"Believe me," he said in disgust, "it's knowledge I could do
without."
He knows, I realized, my mind screaming in terror as those
teeth approached me. He knows about me and Chaz. He knows that Chaz
fucked me.
Charles McNider would sleep with anything that moved, but only
once. Me, he kept coming back to. Chaz--he insisted on Chaz, never Mr.
McNider and for some reason, Wesley allowed it--loved women, used to go on
about the swell of their hips, the curve of their breasts, the deep, wet,
hot place between their legs he used to go, how he could make them flushed
and red and swollen everywhere. He loved that. But he craved men. As
much emotional satisfaction he got out of pleasing women, they only
perfunctorily pleased him. Even the lustiest of dames couldn't drive him
as crazy as I could.
Back when.
McNider took me out for a drink on my eighteenth
birthday. Old enough to die in the armed forces, old enough to drink, he
said, clapping me on the shoulder as he directed me into a dive that seemed
much less lush than his usual watering holes.
Chaz cut a glamorous figure those days; a friend of my uncle
Wesley's. Maybe friend was too strong a word, because Wesley never quite
seemed to approve of his stories or even be happy to see him show up at the
door, but by the end of the night, he'd have Wesley roaring with
laughter--a rarity indeed. Aunt Dian adored him, too, perching herself on
the arm of the sofa as he talked and laughed and told ribald jokes. I got
shooed off to bed pretty quickly those nights, but that didn't usually stop
me from lurking on the stairs and listening.
"No girlfriend?" he asked bluntly, his voice friendly, as he
set a mug of beer in front of me. "Nice looking kid like yourself should
have girls falling all over him."
"Just haven't found the right one, I guess," I said politely,
taking a sip at the foam.
It was my standard line, because if there was a right one out
there, it wasn't going to be a girl. I'd figured that out four years prior
when I woke up from a dream of my best friend Danny jerking me off to find
my sheets a sticky mess. I'd tried to talk myself out of it, pretend I
didn't know what was going on, even made a conscious effort to go against
type, but even at eighteen I had figured out that none of those tactics
were going to work. The church wasn't exactly calling to me but I was
hoping I could deal with a life of celibacy, at least until I had enough
money to buy my own island and move there in isolation--near-isolation.
Yeah, that was a joke.
"It doesn't have to be the *right* one," Chaz told me with a
lift of his glass and a sly grin. "It just has to be a willing one."
I coughed on the formless foam in my mouth and tried not to
laugh too hard.
"There is that," I said as neutrally as I could manage.
Chaz gave me what seemed to be a long measuring look from
behind his glasses and that handsome smirk settled into a thoughtful curve.
"I want to recruit you," he said abruptly.
"Recruit me?" I repeated, not quite sure what he meant. I had
intended to sign up for the army before I was drafted. It had been a point
of contention between me and Wesley, who wanted me to go to college first.
"Recruit you," he repeated. "For my division."
Excitement raced through me. I'd long suspected that Charles
McNider was a spy. There were so many places he'd been, so many things
he'd done, so many important people he knew, I couldn't imagine he was just
a simple soldier.
"Your division?" I asked, my pulse racing in my temples. I
could be a spy! I could go far away, see things, learn things...do things.
Chaz nodded slowly and leaned forward.
"It's an intelligence operation," he confirmed softly. "And
we'll talk about it in more depth later." He leaned back in his seat and
took another drink. "But I firmly believe that no man should decide his
destiny before he loses his virginity."
And then he said something that I'd never heard anyone say before.
"Have you considered men?"
"Hah--What?" I choked, coughing up my beer messily.
Chaz removed his glasses and set his drink on the table.
"Some men," he said quietly, "like men. Maybe--" he leaned
back and raised his chin so that he appeared to be studying me despite his
blindness, "--you haven't found the right woman because you'd rather have a
man."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that so I just didn't. Maybe
he was trying to figure if I was queer because it would disqualify me from
a position in his division...or maybe he was making a pass at me. From the
way his eyes traveled from my face to my chest and back--which was quite
disconcerting then, before I learned that his unique condition allowed him
to see in the dark--I thought he might be making a pass at me, but I didn't
really know what one looked like, and I didn't want to ruin my chances for
his offer.
"Are you asking me if I'm a homosexual?" I asked finally,
holding as straight a poker face as I could manage, just in case he could
see, or could even read the expression in my voice.
Chaz's face split into a grin that was equal parts amused and
lecherous. His hand, which I hadn't even realized was under the table,
closed around my knee and slid up my thigh. My breath choked in my throat
as I found myself instantly hard. I sat up straighter, the muscles in my
leg tensing under his hand.
"That's exactly what I'm asking you, Sand," he murmured, his
eyes steady on mine.
I tried to breathe and I tried to think and neither one was
working out too well. I wasn't sure it was clear to answer affirmatively
yet--maybe he was trying to trick me. After all, he *was* a spy. And he
was definitely lying about the blindness.
"Look," he said, his hand still hooked over my leg. "Whether
or not you sleep with me has no bearing on my offer. None. I'm here to
make it and whether or not you take it and whether or not you make it
through the training if you do is up to you."
He wanted to sleep with me, I realized over the pounding of my
heart. The rest was just details, that slightly jumbled sentence that we
could worry about later. I found myself nodding, trying to form words with
my mouth without knowing which words would be right to form.
A confident smile curved into Chaz's face.
"Good," he said, taking my stupefaction for consent. He
removed his hand from my leg and reached into his suit jacket. "This is
the key to my hotel room," he told me, passing it over the table. "Go
through the lobby, up the elevator to the fourth floor, then go to the
stairwell and take that to the second floor and wait in room 12. Be ready
to let me in when I knock. I'll stop at the concierge's desk and pick up
my messages."
I nodded then, taking the key and clutching it tightly in my fist.
"Leave the beer," he told me. "I've got a bottle of good
whisky in my room." He flashed a quick smile and I realized then how it
was he managed to get so many otherwise-proper women in bed. "And that'll
help you more than this swill will," he added, draining his own cup. He
stood and left a bill on the table and I hurried to keep up with him as we
left.
Chaz and I walked in near-silence through the busy streets,
the light taps of his cane echoing in the back of my mind. My heart was
pounding in anticipation of my first sexual experience as I wove around
tipsy couples and dodged fast-talking shysters. Chaz seemed to skirt them
all with ease and it was an effort not to stare at him and the lithe grace
with which he moved.
We reached the door of Chaz's hotel and he lengthened his
stride a bit.
"I'll go in first," he said, reaching casually into his pants
pocket for a cigarette. "You go straight on up, fourth floor, the stairs
to second, then--"
"Room 12, " I finished to show that I remembered.
Chaz paused and a brief smile flickered over his face. He
nodded once and opened the door. I waited for it to close, then counted to
ten in English, Mandarin and Cantonese.
Chaz was waiting at the desk, nonchalantly lighting his cig as
the night clerk checked for his messages. I walked straight to the
elevator, letting Chaz slide out of my peripheral vision and turning to
admire a pair of girls sitting in the bar area without breaking
stride. They didn't exactly catch my attention, particularly with the
possibilities for the next few hours, but I thought the casual look
appeared normal. The elevator was already on the ground floor and the
doors opened immediately. I stepped in, away from everyone's sight, and
told the elevator operator that I wanted to go to the fourth floor.
He gave me a look that seemed longer than usual and it made me
nervous, but he closed the door and pressed the button for the fourth
floor. I wished for a cigarette. I didn't usually smoke, but I thought
maybe it would make me seem older, like I belonged in a hotel like this,
like I'd have my own room here.
I nodded as I left the doors and turned left. I walked
decisively until I heard the doors shut, then I stopped and regrouped. It
was late and all the doors were closed, the only light in the narrow hall
from a single lamp overhead. I saw that the stairwell ended the hall to my
right, so I retraced my steps and pushed cautiously on the door leading to
the stairwell. It groaned the way only old metal doors can, so I slipped
through it quickly and scuttled down four flights of stairs until I stood
before the door marking the entrance to the second floor. I pushed it
open, feeling the same groan against my shoulder, and glanced at the
nearest closed door. It was an odd number, so Chaz's room was on the near
side of the hall. I glanced to my left and saw that I was close to room
number sixteen. I walked quietly, on the balls of my feet, to door number
12. The key Chaz had slipped me was still in my palm and it fit almost
perfectly. The door swung open and I stepped inside, closing the door
after me with an exhalation of a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
I turned on the light and glanced around the room. It was
tiny, a box really, marked with a double bed and a small table. A
telephone and an ashtray sat on the table alongside the small lamp. The
whiskey Chaz had mentioned sat on a nightstand on the far side of the
bed. I didn't see any glasses.
A sharp rap on the door broke my mental catalogue of the
place. It had to be Chaz, but I checked the peephole anyway before letting
him in.
"I see you found the place all right," he commented,
shouldering through the small opening I left for him and pushing the door
shut behind him. "No trouble from the man downstairs?"
"None," I assured him, assuming correctly that he meant the
elevator operator.
Chaz tossed his cane into the corner, where it came to rest
with a rattle.
"Good. Time for a drink then," he proclaimed, pulling out one
of the two chairs from the table. "If you don't mind?" He nodded toward
the back of the room and it took me a moment to realize that I was meant to
get the whiskey. I skirted the bed, not looking at it too carefully,
whether by accident or design, I'd rather not consider. When I returned to
the table, bottle in hand, Chaz had two glasses waiting. I didn't think to
ask where he'd kept them.
"So, you want to be a spy," he said, taking the bottle from me
and unscrewing the top.
"I want a lot of things," I said carefully, watching him
splash amber liquid into the glasses.
"You're good at this," he commented, pushing one glass across
the table in my direction. "You're careful. That's good. But you also
need to take risks in this business." He reached over and pulled the
little string of metal beads that turned out the lamp. "It's a dangerous
business," he said quietly. The light of the moon, shining through the
window, caught the edge of the cut glass tumbler and made it glow as he
tilted it up. "I've lost a lot of friends in this war. And so has your
uncle."
It didn't occur to me to correct him--that Wesley wasn't
really my uncle, especially not because he never had married Aunt
Dian. The very idea that Wesley might be a spy too, that his days of
working with Chaz McNider might have actually been in deep cover and not in
some sort of laboratory--well, that was exciting too, and I guess it made
me all the more eager to prove myself.
"Wesley works with you?" I said neutrally, trying to keep that
approval that seemed to come with subtlety.
"Not so much anymore," Chaz confirmed. "And I doubt he'd be
happy with my sharing that fact with you."
No, no Wesley wouldn't, but the more I thought about it, the
more it made sense. Not just in terms of disappearing for weeks at a time,
because there were so many jobs--safe, civilian jobs--that legitimately
stole men from their families for stretches of time, but in terms of how I
was raised. Wesley and Dian were both into current events and world
politics and we often held discussions around the dinner table. Usually,
Dian would take the opposing stance to Wesley's statements, teaching me how
to carefully break down an argument and make my point. I was given all the
books I'd ever want, but with every Western or crime novel, a book on
political philosophy, or history, or even one of Aunt Dian's novels would
appear right beside it. We learned languages around the table, Wesley
teaching both Dian and me the dialects he'd learned in the
Orient. Together, we'd spend weekends working on projects in the basement,
mechanical, chemical, and electronic. In a sense I was being trained,
though never, I think, with the purpose of sending me out on the journey I
was about to undertake.
"What about Aunt Dian?" I asked, more out of curiosity than
anything else. I just couldn't see Aunt Dian sitting to the side and
letting Wesley have all the fun.
"What about her?"
"Did she play the game, too?" I specified.
Chaz chuckled. "For a bit," he confessed. "Although it was
more a dalliance than a career. She certainly wasn't on the payroll."
That didn't surprise me either. Aunt Dian never did anything
for the money.
"How do I join?"
I heard the clink of glass as Chaz sat down his glass. It
reminded me that I had yet to sample the whisky myself. I lifted the glass
to my lips and inhaled the sharp, smoky aroma, then tilted the tumbler,
taking a mouthful of the liquor.
Good quality, better than the hotel room would indicate. It
burned smoothly down my throat and warmed my stomach, soothing the nerves
that were clenching it tight.
"You would enlist, same as anyone else," Chaz told me,
swirling his drink. "When it came time to ship you out, your orders would
direct you to a special training squadron. That would be my job, to get
you flagged for special ops. You'd go through an intense basic training,
then through a specialized course in espionage and cryptology. From there
you would be assigned simple training missions and work up into more
advanced sorties. You'd be good," he offered, pausing to sip at his drink,
"as a deep-cover agent. It's an intense assignment, and more than most can
handle, but your skills are...unique."
That was flattering, of course, and I would have fallen for it
even if I'd known better then. From that moment I knew that I'd be unable
to settle for anything less than what Chaz was offering.
"I want in," I told him straight up.
He set his glass down and in the silence, I remembered what he
had said about making important life decisions before losing my virginity.
"And that'll be my answer tomorrow morning," I said boldly.
He threw back his head and laughed long and loud in what
appeared to be deep appreciation for my humor.
"All right then," he said with a confident smile. He
abandoned his drink, pushing away from the table and moving to sit on the
bed. "I guess I did tell you that there were certain rites of passage you
needed to experience before promising your life away." He started
unknotting his tie as he talked.
I suppose that would have been the time to start undressing
and to my credit, did manage to formulate that thought, but my eyes were
fixed on his deft fingers working the silk of his necktie and I couldn't
make any part of my body move. Well, one part, of course, was moving
rather unsteadily and it didn't abate when Chaz folded his tie over the
near chair and quickly stripped off his shirt. I needed to adjust myself,
but I was busy watching the white undershirt drop onto the floor and there
was something sweet about the pain; maybe it was knowing that my clothes
were about to be on the floor next.
"You all right, kid?" Chaz asked, standing in just his suit
pants, belt, socks and shoes.
I nodded mutely, afraid my voice would do something
embarrassing that it hadn't done in years...break, or squeak or who knows what.
He stepped closer and cuffed the back of my neck with one
strong hand. "You're sure?"
I nodded, and he studied me for another moment.
"Ok, then," he agreed, and pulled my head to his.
I was familiar with the mechanics of a kiss; even had one
planted on me by Cindy Colburn back in eighth grade, but never had I
dreamed one could heat my body like Chaz's kiss did. He paused a second
before contact and I felt his warm breath against my lips. Next thing I
knew, his strong, whisky-tinged mouth was on mine and in one smooth move,
his tongue was sweeping across my teeth.
My knees buckled but I managed not to collapse. If I thought
I'd been hard before, it was nothing compared to what was going on in my
pants as Chaz's tongue plundered my mouth. I didn't much know what to do,
so I just let him take my mouth. I tried to press my lips back on his to
show him that I wanted him just as much as he wanted me, and ventured my
tongue out in small tastes, but it was clear who was in charge of this
encounter.
I didn't realize that his calloused, long-fingered hand was
splayed over my cheek, tilting my head up, until he removed it. I felt
somewhat indignant at having missed the caress, but then that hand joined
its mate in sweeping down my ribcage and around my body to the small of my
back.
Chaz tore his mouth away from mine and stepped back. I gasped
in an involuntary breath. Then, the world changed color as Chaz ripped my
shirt over my head and discarded it on the floor.
"Nice," he murmured softly, running his hands over my chest in
a way that reminded me he could see, just before he pinched each of my
nipples between two fingers.
Pleasure spiked through me, making me gasp again as Chaz
grinned smugly at me.
"Good, sensitive," he commented, releasing one to comb through
what chest hair I had. It didn't seem like nearly enough now, though
Wesley assured me that it would become denser as I aged. He fingered one
nipple as he studied me, causing little tight fireworks in the skin and in
my peripheral vision. "I don't sleep with little boys, Sandy," he said,
closing his fingers over the fine hairs on my chest. "But I do like young
men. You are a young man, aren't you, Sandy?"
I nodded quickly, hardly daring to breath with Chaz so close
and heavy-lidded as he was. I felt Chaz's fingers leave my nipple and then
my knees nearly gave out when he cupped that hand in the distortion of my
slacks. I dredged up every breathing technique Wesley had taught me over
the years and tried to center myself.
Chaz's eyes sketched over my face in the dark as his hand
kneaded my cock and balls. I had to bite my lip and avert my eyes to keep
from tackling him to the bed. It was almost more disconcerting when his
hand left and his fingers found my waistband. He wrenched my pants open
and slid one hand neatly into my boxers. His strong hand wrapped firmly
around my cock, which surged with increased fervor.
I suddenly realized I had my hands on his shoulders and was
holding on for dear life. A slow smile had started to spread across his
face, a look that was very nearly triumphant.
"Time for bed, Sandy?" he asked, voice husky in my ear and I
guess I nodded.
He withdrew his hand from my pants and used the flat of his other hand on
my back to push me toward the waiting bed.
I pushed my pants and boxers down to the floor with trembling
hands and stepped out of them. Gay sex isn't something good boys from
Manhattan are versed in, but the basics were out there and I knew enough to
go to my knees when I got on the bed.
Chaz didn't say anything, but I could almost feel his approval
as I heard his pants follow mine to the floor.
A chill struck my skin and I shivered as he approached the
bed. I remember that shiver very distinctly and I'll probably never know why.
"If you're cold," he started, but then he never finished his
sentence. Instead, he passed one hand down my back and over my naked
buttocks, cupping his hand as he reached the crease where my bottom met my
thigh.
Maybe, after he'd said that, maybe he'd thought that I was
scared. And back then, men didn't talk about being scared, even men who
fancied other men. So he just didn't say anything, but he was gentler.
He knelt on the bed behind me and ran his hands over my back,
my shoulders, then leaned forward and pressed his body against mine.
I could feel the hard ridge of his cock against the soft part
of my butt and I tensed all my muscles in anticipation.
But he wasn't ready yet. He felt up my stomach and over my
chest, then leaned back a bit and ran his hands up the front of my
thighs. He wrapped one hand around my cock and the other hand around my
balls and started massaging.
I tried my best to last, but it was the first time someone
besides me had touched me like this, and the next thing I knew, I was
gasping and whining as Chaz's expert hand caught the fluid pumping out of
my cock as his other arm wrapped around my stomach, holding me to him.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and
widened my eyes as I stared at the thin, institutional bedspread on the
hotel bed.
Chaz released my waist, sending me crashing down on my
forearms, and I felt his hand rubbing something hot and wet--my own come,
I'd realize later--between the cheeks of my ass.
"That should help you relax," he was saying, as his fingers
were doing amazing, invasive things to me. My breath came in short
stuttering gasps again as he began to edge a fingertip inside me.
It felt odd, but also right.
I held onto the coverlet with both hands as Chaz twisted his
finger, sliding inside me a little more. It suddenly struck me that his
*cock* was supposed to go in there, that the long ridge laid up against my
hip was going to be following the path his finger was clearing and
suddenly, the whole thing became a whole lot scarier and a whole lot more real.
"Sandy." Chaz's voice was firm but kind. "Don't tense
up. This'll work better if you're relaxed." As if to illustrate that
point, he pushed with his finger and I felt something back there give and
then he was *inside* me.
I gasped and drove my face into the nearest pillow to muffle
the noise.
Chaz's free hand rubbed my lower back as he moved his finger
in and out of me and my whimpering became steady.
I tried to slow my breathing again and concentrated on
relaxing what seemed to be the pertinent muscles.
"Good boy," Chaz murmured and I felt another blunt pressure at
my ass and felt it as he slid two fingers inside me.
I coughed in response to the pressure and tried to actively
relax the muscles, which probably just made them tighten up again.
Chaz's fingers moved a little faster in me and then he started
moving them around. I fisted my hands in the pillow and held it to my
mouth. This wasn't the way men and women had sex, this was baser and
cruder and almost wrong, but erotic in its sinfulness.
My cock was hard again and I ached for Chaz to go deeper, to
add another finger, something, anything.
I was too overwhelmed to pick my head up and tell him, though,
so I just clung to my pillow and thrust my ass into the air.
I could hear Chaz's breath behind me, harsh, coming faster as
he twisted his fingers inside me. His other hand, on my left buttock,
tightened and released spastically, sending muscle twitches ripping along
that side. His cock rubbed roughly against my hip, hard and hot and
velvety at the tip.
I wet my lips with my tongue, but they dried out again
instantly. I didn't know how to ask for what I needed and Chaz was trying
his best not to rush me. At the time, I didn't realize that this was
making him nearly as crazy as it was making me.
I know better now.
Chaz leaned down and I could feel his breath on my shoulder as
he rasped the words from deep in his throat.
"Are you ready?"
If I'd been able to think about it, I might have taken a
moment to relish my last seconds as a virgin and the knowledge that a
chapter in my life was about to close. But I wasn't able and I didn't
pause, and maybe it's just as well.
I nodded, more vigorously than I had to, and Chaz groaned as
he leaned back.
His fingers pulled from my ass smoothly and I gasped when they
popped free. The erection at my thigh moved away and I think I held my
breath as Chaz pressed the head of his cock to my ass and pushed in.
My breath left me in a whoosh as I realized I'd made a
terrible mistake.
This was not the pleasantly full feeling from Chaz's fingers;
this was pain, streaking up inside me, burning unbearably. I bit at my
lip, loathe to make a sound in pain as my body screamed at the
entrance. But then something relaxed and the pain wasn't as
debilitating. I heard Chaz make a sound like a little sigh, and it
distracted me for a moment. Slowly, awareness returned and I realized that
Chaz was balls-deep in my ass and that full feeling was back, the pleasure
magnified a thousandfold. He pulled back a bit and my eyes widened at the
sensation. I wanted him back in, wanted him deeper, and as he eased in his
second thrust, I realized I hadn't made a mistake at all.
My cock was hard, pressed firmly against my stomach, and I
ducked my head down, watching it bob and my balls swing with Chaz's
thrusts. The pain was gone; the mild ache in my thighs actually more
noticeable. Chaz's hands rested lightly on the sides of my rib cage as he
rolled against me in short, soft thrusts.
"Harder," I managed to croak, knowing Chaz was treating me
with kid gloves, knowing the whiskey, the fingers, everything had been to
make it easier for me. I knew he wanted more--needed more--and I wanted to
give it to him, even as I drew pleasure from his actions myself.
The sound he made then was one I've never found words to
describe, but has stayed with me to this day. His hands closed firmly over
my hips and his knee pushed my own out, sprawling me deeper on the bed. I
leaned my chest on my forearms, gripping the worn comforter in my fingers
as Chaz's thrusts became short and sharp, then increased in depth.
I closed my eyes and pictured Chaz behind me, his face tense
as he plowed into me. I could feel his fingers sliding for a better grip
as his hands slicked with sweat and his balls bounced against my ass with
light taps that I felt everywhere. Chaz was breathing heavily, little
grunts and moans being dragged from his throat.
It took me several more encounters to realize just how tenuous
his control really was with me.
I scooted my knees further up the bed, toward my elbows,
sinking Chaz deeper inside me. It also changed the angle, sending him
riding right over my prostate, and sending me spurting on the bed for a
second time that night.
Without thinking about it, I cried out as I came, my torso
bouncing up from the bed. Chaz's hands were suddenly gone from my hips and
I felt him clasping my shoulders, riding me down to the bed again, into my
own release, and then he rocked into me one last time before I felt a hot
rush inside me.
It was an odd feeling, like I'd lost control of something I
shouldn't have, but not, and when Chaz collapsed on my back, I felt like we
had somehow melted together.
Quite a while later, after Chaz was gone, I was with a man who
covered his cock with a condom before fucking me. It hadn't occurred to me
at the time that we'd ever need one--it wasn't as if he was going to get me
pregnant and diseases seemed to be a danger only in prostitutes.
Looking back, I'm glad we didn't use one. We never did and
ever after that, that feeling of complete exchange was something I only
ever shared with him. We were lucky in some respects; Chaz always used
them with his ladies and whether he slept with other men or not, I don't
know, but he was always clean.
Call me a romantic, but I didn't sleep with anyone but Chaz
until quite a bit after he died.
He was killed in a hospital in Bern, in 1942.
It was on a mission.
I had been out of training for less than a year, maybe only
six moths, and our times together had been infrequent, but the fact that
they were times, plural, meant something. I spent the evening in my
quarters with a bottle of the same whiskey we'd drunk that night and
toasted him. And then I went about my life.
And this is where it ends up.
I opened my eyes and looked up into the face of the
devil. The gruesome countenance and needle-toothed, sucking mouth were
gone, leaving behind an austere-looking man with an expression of complete
disgust on his face.
I felt light-headed and somehow I knew my time was
over. Whatever I was living off now was in limited quantities. I hoped
I'd made Wesley proud. I hoped Dian wouldn't cry. And most of all, I
hoped Chaz, wherever he was, approved.
"I wouldn't dirty my hands with the crummy little faggot," the
devil's voice came, as though through a long tunnel.
"I like to watch them go through the wall," was the reply, in
English, in an American accent.
I strained to see, strained to identify this newcomer, as if
I'd be able to report the information to anyone. All I saw as a massive
hand closed over my throat, and lifted me from the floor was a black suit
and dark hair. The hand choked and my peripheral vision blurred and the
next thing I knew, I was hurling through the air. I closed my eyes.
***
"Didn't know, huh?"
"Of course not." Parasite shuddered as he wiped the back of
his hand across his mouth. "Let's hope the next one doesn't have so much
extraneous knowledge."
"I hope his head goes pop."
Epilogue:
"Sand. Sandy. Open your eyes."
I didn't want to. I didn't want to feel myself hit the wall.
"It's all right now," the voice told me. "Open your
eyes. It's time to go."
Chaz?
Slowly, I peeled my eyes open, and realized that I wasn't
flying through the air anymore. I wasn't exactly standing on solid ground,
although it sure looked like I did. The tunnel didn't have much in the way
of a floor, just hazy mist and a bright light at the far end.
"Sandy." It was Charles McNider, and I almost cried in relief
when I saw him. He wasn't wearing his glasses and he was looking at me,
straight at me, even though there was certainly too much light in the
tunnel for him to see me. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "It's
time to go home."
I opened my mouth and the first thing that came to mind came out.
"Is the mission completed?"
Chaz's mouth twitched into a smile and he reached for my hand
and took it in his own. "Mission's completed, Sandy," he told me. "It's
in someone else's hands now."
The End
Argh, the end! We're not talking about the end.
Also clearly I have no ACTUAL shame, even though I'm using the embarrassed mood.